


Safe Places

by apostate (394percentdone)



Series: Tales of a Tabris [11]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: a collection of all the works i submitted for zevwarden week 2020
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Series: Tales of a Tabris [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1119615
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Identity

Somehow the first time back feels he’s never been here before. Stone walls rise high above the river, where Ellanis knows shadows take the place of dawn behind them. The thick wooden gate he’s only crossed once before stops him in his tracks in the middle of the Denerim market, was it always so small from this side? 

He can’t see inside and whoever is on the other side can’t see him either. Would it matter if they could? Would anyone recognize him now, standing straight in the open without doubt. Maybe they would, maybe the sorrow in his eyes where they linger on the gate or the hesitance in his step towards it or the fear in how he can’t take another would give him away. Maybe they wouldn’t because who would remember him at all. It’s been nearly a year after all. 

Fingernails press into his palm and Ellanis tears his gaze from the gate to the Denerim Alienage. Home isn’t inside the walls anymore. Is it?

Ellanis blinks, the buzz of the market returning to his ears and the early morning sunlight warms the back of his neck. It hits him like a wave, rolling over and through him and if he isn’t careful he’ll drown under the waters. It isn’t home anymore. It hasn’t been since he was led out that gate but he thought. Maybe. If he could just never come back. 

“You look lost in thought, caro.” Quiet, almost too quiet for Ellanis to hear over the hawkers if Zevran hadn’t looped his arm around Ellanis’ and leaned in close. “Something on your mind?”

Stretching his neck above the water, breathing in clean air. Barely keeping afloat. “No. I-” Those shadows kept him in the dark nearly his whole life and yet he stands now with the sun warming his back. “It just. It looks so small from the outside. I’ve never seen it from here before.” 

“Ah,” Zevran squeezes his arm, a quick burst of pressure before release, and sighs. “It always looks different the first time back.”

“Does it always  _ feel _ different?” Maker, he couldn’t sound smaller. His words barely leave his lips and Ellanis grimaces, “All I ever wanted was to build a life there and now I don’t. I can’t just.” Bites his tongue, chokes words back. Water lapping at his chin. 

Doesn’t want to go back, can’t just forget everything and try to do it anyway. Doesn’t want to leave again and can’t just turn back the clock. 

A breath laced with water. “I need to leave. Back to Eamon’s estate.” Ellanis taps his cane against the cobblestones with a shark clack and pulls his arm free from Zevran’s grasp. “I- If you want…”

“Let me escort you back, my dear warden,” Half smile half smirk and a jaunty sweeping gesture, “You never know who may be lurking in the shadows. Far safer to travel together.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Zev” His own smile dips below the waves and Ellanis nearly chokes on the water dripping in between his teeth. 

Merciful Andraste the walk back to the Arl’s estate is quick, in their new clothes they’re invisible in the bustling city, especially with their hair down. Unrecognizable, unremarkable. Just two faces lost in a crowd of strangers and Ellanis doesn’t reach for Zevran’s hand. Keeps his palm on the grip of his cane instead. 

Quiet steps but not secret ones. Well, maybe not entirely honest ones but Ellanis can’t stomach the thought of running into anyone else. Not now, maybe not later. Opening a door that doesn’t squeak on dry hinges, sharing a room instead of a tent. When did home become the scent of leather. 

It’s barely after dawn but damn if he isn’t tired already. Ellanis heads for the bed and sits himself down, Zevran following him until Ellanis stops him with a hand. Circles his wrist with his fingers and pulls him not beside him but before him. “What did it feel like, your first time back?” 

There are only six buttons holding Zevran’s shirt closed, six small wooden buttons against the blue of his shirt. Ellanis reaches for the top on first, letting Zevran’s hand drop. 

“The first time I left Antiva City for the Crows I thought my city would be too small to hold me when I returned.” Speaking slowly, the way he does only when Ellanis pries something out of him. “It wasn’t, you may have guessed. But I was bigger than before inside it, hm, I had changed but the city had not. You could say it was unbalancing.” 

The first button slips open, “I spent my whole life in my alienage and that’s.” Water just below his lips, threatening to spill inside. “What if I changed too much Zev? I’ve never belonged anywhere else and now I don’t think I can belong there again.” Breathes through his nose, long fingers opening the second button. 

“Why not?” 

He freezes on the third button. “Why not? I can’t go back and abandon the wardens but I never wanted to be one. Even if I did I-” The water is cold where it fills his lungs and Ellanis fumbles around the anchor of Zevran’s skin. 

“Even if you did it wouldn’t be the same.” His hands cover Ellanis’ over his shirt, warmth seeping into Ellanis’ frozen skin. 

Ellanis nods. Keeps his gaze on the next little wooden button instead of looking up where he knows Zevran wants him, currents sweeping through his stomach. It wouldn’t be the same. Does it need to be the same? 

Stepping closer, between his legs, Zevran lifts Ellanis’ hands from his shirt and holds them. “You can trust me when I tell you, even if it isn’t the same it is still home. Part of it always belongs to you.” 

A hand held above the water, offering him a way to rise out of them. Shuddering under the icy depths remembering how warm it is beside another. “If I go back, come with me. Will you?” Looking up to meet Zevran’s eyes and Ellanis grips his hands tightly. Squeezes. 

“Lead the way and I will follow, caro.” 


	2. La Petite Mort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied nudity

Sinking into the hot bath Ellanis can’t help but sigh with relief. Closing his eyes and relaxing into the water, it's the first moment of rest he can think of in months. Probably longer. But tonight the sun has set and candles flicker weakly past his eyelids and Ellanis’ muscles are melting in the large tub. 

“You look comfortable, amor.” Zevran’s voice is warm in the semi-darkness but Ellanis doesn’t bother opening his eyes to find him. 

Just smiles slightly, “And you’re late.” 

Rustling of clothes closely follows the sound of Zevran setting down a basket. Ellanis cracks his eyes open slightly, not wanting to miss a moment. Candlelight and steam, smooth skin and Zevran’s smirk as he meets Ellanis’ gaze. 

“Looking for something?”

Ellanis shakes his head with a grin, “Did you remember to bring my soap? It took you long enough to find it the first time.” 

Gesturing towards the basket with a flourish Zevran leans over and picks up a bar. “It would not have taken so long to find if you didn’t hide your soap better than you hide your coin purse.”

“Or if you knew how to find valuables.” Sticking his tongue out at Zevran before swiping the soap from his hand. “Thank you.” 

“But of course.” Zevran steps gently in the bath, sinking in carefully beside Ellanis and sighing loudly. “Why do you guard your soap so carefully? I will admit I am curious.” Legs brushing in the tub, blackberries and vanilla from the soap in his hands. 

Softening smiles, “It’s important to me, and I only have so much of it.” Ellanis rolls his eyes at the look Zevran gives him over the water and nudges him with his good knee. “It’s important because it’s my mother’s recipe. Blackberries were her favorite. We used to make huge batches of soap during the late summer when they were ripe and I can still remember her swearing at the soap molds.” 

“As well she should.” Zevran leans back, tilting his head against the wall to keep his hair out of the water. “I shall have to thank her for such a lovely recipe.” 

Ellanis snorts, “You can certainly try telling her grave.” 

“Ah.” Pulling his foot back from Ellanis’ leg, not exactly cold but cooler. “My apologies.” 

Well Ellanis has no desire for that, “It was a long time ago, and besides it is a good recipe. So let’s not let it go to waste.” Circling a finger in the air, “Turn around.” 

Zevran smiles in the candlelight and obliges. Carefully, trying not to spill water outside the tub or jostle Ellanis’ bad leg, Zevran turns himself around. Baby hairs curl at the nape of his neck where they’ve fallen out of his bun and water glistens on his skin, small drops catching fire and glowing. Sliding a bit forward Ellanis kisses his exposed shoulder, a knob of his spine. Exposed and vulnerable. 

Steam tickles Ellanis’ nose but he reaches over the side of the tub and grabs a cloth from the basket Zevran brought, dunking it in the water and lathering it with soap. Blackberries and vanilla. A weak spot Ellanis thought long shorn up. Gently he takes the cloth and washes Zevran’s back, exposed and vulnerable and safe. 


	3. Faith

It’s raining when they return to Haven. Thick heavy raindrops landing on the dirt road out of the caves and turning it to mud. Grey skies and lightning. Ellanis turns his face into the rain and lets his eyes shut, cane planted firmly in the soft ground. He can still smell the blood. 

Metallic on his tongue it sits in the back of his throat and weighs on his hip where he placed a pinch of ashes in a pouch. 

All his life he’d asked and wondered, lit candles and held one-sided conversations for prayers. And somehow he’ll go back to questions instead of answers. He has to.  _ Needs to. _ Ellanis’ hand drifts to his side and to the ashes held there. Drips rain from his fingertips onto the soft leather. Deep breathes wet on his lips and Ellanis counts the rain as approval. 

“The rain is not the best place to stop my dear Warden,” Zevran’s hand presses softly to the small of Ellanis’ back, a gentle pressure. “The others are leaving you behind rather quickly.” 

Ellanis doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he does give a half smirk. “I take it you’re planning on joining them yourself are you.”

“Me? Get out of the freezing rain and into dry clothes before a fire?” His fingers spread across Ellanis’ back, just short of the pouch on his hip. Scoffs near Ellanis’ ear with exaggerated force. 

Cracking open his eyes, glancing at Zevran in the corner of his vision. “And here I thought you just wanted a private moment alone.” Covers Zevran’s hand with his own and turns in the dangerously soft mud, Ellanis only barely keeps his balance with his cane. “All you had to do was ask you know.”

In the rain Zevran hasn’t lost any of his charm. Even with his hair slicked to his temples and water running down his cheeks he manages a sideways grin. Not that it convinces Ellanis. “Why, caro, do you think I’ve ever asked.” 

“You ask about a lot of things Zev,” His own lips twitch to match Zevran’s cocksure grin, “Important things, usually.” Stops for a moment, smile stilling, “I heard what you said earlier.”

Earlier, before the blood but after the fire. 

“About the vase?” His fingers tighten even as his eyes smile, “I am a man of culture, a nice vase in a nice house fits don’t you think?”

Ellanis shakes his head, “You know what I’m talking about, how many times do I need to ask you to stop avoiding answering me.” 

He hadn’t meant to hear it, he’s sure Zevran didn’t mean for him to have heard either. Whispered in a hushed cathedral, “ _ Mother of Mercy… It is real _ ” 

Even with the ashes Ellanis wants to ask questions but is it real had never been one he’d asked before. Why would it matter, one way or the other? But hearing it, hearing it barely over the cold wind and echoing silence, Ellanis takes in the rain falling down Zevran’s cheeks and wonders if it’s something he had asked before. 

“You can carry them, Zev, if you want.” Tightening his own grasp on Zevran’s hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I do trust you not to run off with them in your new boots.” 

Lightning in the sky and storm clouds in Zevran’s eyes. He laughs and it’s nearly lost to the thunder, almost but not quite. Like a prayer or a question asked in place of one. “Ah, the life of an assassin on the run is not one to laugh at, Ellanis. I could run off preaching the miracles of those ashes and make a fortune doing so.” 

“Leliana would have an arrow through your throat at twenty paces. And you’re still dodging me.” Rain runs in small rivulets down his back, plasterers his hair to his cheek and gets in his mouth. Ellanis can taste it on his tongue and feel it weight down his eyelashes when he blinks. Softening edges. 

Ellanis places their paired hands on his hip pouch, opens it with his eyes still locked on Zevran’s, and pulls the small bag of ashes out. “Here.” Lets go, rain slipping between their fingers and leaving the bag in Zevran’s hand. 

If Ellanis hadn’t been watching he’s sure he would have missed the shiver run across Zevran’s skin. But he didn’t. He doesn’t miss the way Zevran’s eyes blink shut for a heartbeat too long or how he squeezes the bag in his hand tight enough the leather squeaks either. 

“I’ve never been in a Chantry,” Rain on his lips, lightning in the sky, “Shems wouldn’t allow us inside, and there never was one built in the alienage. We didn’t need one though, for most things we sang our Chant in our homes and under the Vhenadahl.” 

Breathing in the scent of rain and dust, how many nights could he remember spent under the lights in the Vhenadahl listening to friends and neighbors sing the Chant on their turn. Too many to count, too many laughs and too many shared meals and too many songs he led blending together. 

“I never wanted answers to my questions and these ashes could mean anything.” Ellanis blinks and Zevran’s face blurs when he opens them again. “To me they are a means to an end.” 

Zevran swallows and Ellanis watches his throat bob. “In Antiva, the Crows and the Chantry are, shall we say, the body and its fist. There was one Chantry we were taken to in the city and it was no place of peace or mercy. All of the sisters there taught of fire and service to the Maker but, no, the Chant we sang was forced from our throats.” 

Even in the rain Zevran’s skin is warm, the space between them small enough Ellanis could reach out easily and close it. But he doesn’t. Zevran holds himself still and one touch may be enough to break it apart entirely. Aching heartbeats in not quite silence. 

“Ah, but I was not satisfied.” Light sparks in Zevran’s eyes and he loosens his grasp on the bag of ashes. “I snuck out, or in rather, to a different Chantry. I remember the first time I did so I chose it for the roof. It had a balcony on the backside with a window open and the sisters never glanced up as they prepared their service for the day.

“It was so different there.” His eyes drop from Ellanis’ to the ashes held in his hands, “Even though I begged the Maker for forgiveness I could not escape the sins I committed. But that Chantry made me feel like I could.” 

Ellanis takes Zevran’s free hand in his own. Lets him squeeze his fingers tightly and listens to him laughing quietly again in the rain, water dripping down his face. Ellanis follows a droplet trail from his hair to his chin, “It didn’t last. The Crows sink their talons into every power in Antiva and the Chantry is no slouch there. I thought if I asked to be a brother there I would not have to commit such sins again.” Squeezing Ellanis’ hand so tight it hurts. 

“I was, hm.” Zevran shuts his eyes again and Ellanis’ chest aches. “I was returned to the Crows with no illusions about how I was to serve the Maker.” 

“Zev,” His voice matches the fragile stillness Zevran held himself with moments ago, but Zevran shakes his head. 

He brings Ellanis’ hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “It is in the past. And I am holding a future in my hands no?” A small, crooked smile grows on his face as he lifts the ashes between them, “I may carry these awhile, if you do not wish to.”

Ellanis nods, “However long you want.”


	4. Injury

Zevran’s skin is soft under his fingers, lingering touches on brown skin and raised scars. Camp is quiet, or as quiet as it ever gets, and the only light comes from moons outside. Slices of silver in the dark. Cool where everything else is humid and warm. Ellanis drags his fingertips along the edge of a long scar on Zevran’s bicep following the line between unbroken and healed. 

“And this one?” Barely above a whisper, sharing stories when everyone else is asleep. 

“Ah,” Zevran chuckles, “That one is from falling out of a broken window on a job. Grazed the glass on the way out and left behind quite the mess. Very sloppy.” 

Searching fingertips press into Ellanis’ palm tracing the thin scar there, “Tell me the story of this one.” 

“Third and final time I was allowed to peel apples with my father’s knife.” Smiling softly, it’d been a long time ago, when he was a boy. “I was a bit, uh, over eager as a child. Sliced right into the meat of my thumb and gave my father quite a few grey hairs I think.” Grey hairs or no Cyrion had patched him up nearly as quickly as Ellanis had hurt himself. Only scolded him for holding the knife wrong and let him watch the rest of the prep work. 

Shifting in the dark of the tent they haven’t admitted to sharing. Ellanis grabs a handful of the fur under them and squishes it into a small pile before putting weight on his bad knee. Fully stradling Zevran now, all but sitting in his lap. Fitting together. Silver streaks cutting across them both. 

Wandering touches, Ellanis keeps to the path of Zevran’s tattoos and brushes his fingers down his ribs. Finds the thick and still slightly pinkish scar sitting under them. Pausing.

“You know that one better than I do, caro.”

Ellanis doesn’t jump but only barely. “You didn’t have to have this one.” 

It should have been Ellanis’. Would have been if Zevran hadn’t shoved him out of the way and taken the hurlock’s blade himself. Andraste’s mercy but that poison… Ellanis flattens his hand over the scar and shoves the memory of heat from his mind. It’s healed. 

Goosebumps ripple across his skin, “What of this one?” Zevran’s fingers graze Ellanis’ stomach and he shivers. 

Another old one. “Oh, I fell off the roof.” Zevran blinks at him and Ellanis crinkles his nose in a laugh, the heat of fever fading into the warmth of shared nights. “My friends needed me to keep a watch out for them, since I’m not exactly fast enough to keep up with them if they need to run. So, most of the time, I’d sit on a roof somewhere and let them know if anyone was coming.”

Maker they’d been stupid. Young. Enough of both they’d been able to have fun. 

“And one time, for some reason, I think maybe the roof was wet? I can’t remember. Anyway I slipped from it and tumbled down pretty far and scraped up my side.” Slipping his hand over Zevran’s Ellanis moves his fingers over, “That scar’s old. It used to be here.” 

Right above the scars Zevran hasn’t asked a single question about yet. Not that Ellanis blames him, they’re quite a mess to look at. Hasn’t questioned but Zevran’s touch doesn’t avoid them either. His fingers brush across Ellanis’ hip where his skin begins to raise and pucker without lingering, light touches on sensitive skin. 

“It was an accident.” Tired of avoiding it, dancing around it, “Maybe a year after my magic manifested I pulled a bookshelf down on myself and didn’t get far enough.” He’d shattered his leg and it had festered, but Zevran doesn’t need to know more than what Ellanis shared. Not unless he asks, and if Ellanis is in a sharing mood when he does. 

His touch doesn’t change, his fingertips explore Ellanis’ skin with only the moon to guide them. “Does it still hurt?”

Ellanis laughs, can’t think of any other response.  _ Does it still hurt? _ When doesn’t it? His laughter rolls through him and Ellanis bends forward towards Zevran, holding himself up with a hand on his chest. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He isn’t looking but Ellanis could swear Zevran is smirking. 

Laughter settling, deep breaths. Finding the quiet around them again Ellanis asks him, “Do yours not?” 

This time it’s Zevran’s turn to laugh. Smaller, muffled with practice. “Fair. Forgive me for asking. I believe that’s two in a row for me as well, rather uncouth of me to skip you so easily hm?” 

“It isn’t like either of us will run out of scars tonight.” Ellanis stretches, pulling his arms over his head and sighing. “Or tomorrow.”

“Or tomorrow.” Zevran slides his hand up Ellanis’ side, no longer searching for scars. At least, Ellanis doesn’t think he is. 

Not with how he reaches around Ellanis’ waist with both hands and up his spine to pull him down. They can share the dark and the moonlight and their scars for a while yet.


	5. Future

Wrapping his hand over hers Zevran notices, again, how much smaller his daughter’s hands are compared to his. Her pudgy little fingers barely reach around the hilt of the practice dagger and Killian drops her wrist when he lets go. Just starting out. 

“Like this mi lola.” Holding her wrist up and squaring her tiny shoulders, gentle corrections with her big eyes watching all of them. “Hold it just like that.” 

Killian grins, “Sí papá.” This time when Zevran lets go her wrist doesn’t break and she looks up at him with all her flyaway hairs and her missing front tooth. Wooden practice dagger and level footing. 

Looks at him for all of a second before her attention is stolen by something behind him. Out here in the countryside there can be only so many things able to both sneak up on him and widen Killian’s grin. But, Zevran watches Killian’s eyes dart back to him and he knows an ambush when he sees one. 

A quick strike to the back of his knee followed closely by a small weight latching onto his leg knocks Zevran to the ground, winding him even with his arms breaking most of his fall. That same small weight pins him to the ground and Killian giggles loudly before joining her sister in sitting on his back. Grass tickles Zevran’s nose, sunlight warms his neck, and his daughters definitively got him this time. 

“You seem to be in trouble.” 

Zevran turns his head and laughs into the point of Killian’s dagger, looks up at his husband and finds him grinning. Hair down and loose, cheeks pink in the summer dawn, warm eyes and a golden earring. Ellanis leans over him with a hand resting on his cane and Zevran wiggles an arm out from under himself where he cushioned his landing. “Never underestimate a trained professional, we’re quite good at getting out of trouble.” 

Killian pokes his cheek with her dagger, “Papá you are supposed to be dead now.” 

“Ah, right.” Ellanis’ laughter rings over his head and Zevran lowers his cheek back to the ground, “But what if your opponent only plays dead hm?” 

“Stab them again!” Without hesitation Killian jabs her practice dagger in his back and Zevran grunts. He should have expected that. 

A second, higher pitched grunt follows his and suddenly the weight on Zevran’s back is halved. “No! Surprise them from behind.” Adaia scoots her weight forward so she’s sitting between his shoulders and Zevran shifts his arm in preparation, palm to the ground and elbow bent. “Last time papá said you didn’t sneak up on him.” 

Killian scoffs in such a perfect imitation of her father Zevran flicks his gaze to Ellanis just to make sure he didn’t do it. 

“You still have to _stab them_ _Adaia._ ” Killian’s wrist is broken again but her stance is better this time and as she raises her dagger to stab at him again Zevran pushes himself up off the ground taking Adaia with him. Quickly twisting an arm behind himself to catch Adaia before she falls he stands upright again and lets Adaia wrap her arms around his neck, hooking his arms under her legs when she settles. 

Just in time for Killian’s attack. Instead of his back she lands a hit on his leg, not enough to drop him back to the ground but hard enough Zevran knows it’ll bruise in the morning. 

“ _ Papá. _ ” Killian draws the word out into a whine and Ellanis snickers behind her. “We snuck up this time!” 

Adaia nods, her pointy chin digging into Zevran’s shoulder, “Just like you said!”

“They did follow your advice, love.” Bending down to hoist Killian to his hip Ellanis raises an eyebrow at him. 

Can’t even trust his own husband. “Amor, you are supposed to take my side.” Sunlight glints off gold tangled in black hair, on a pair of faces wearing the same grin, bathing Zevran’s future in a warm afternoon glow. 

Ellanis shakes his head at him, takes a step forward but Zevran is faster. Meeting in the middle. Kissing in the sunshine, melting in the heat. Sweet as the first time. Even though Killian makes a gagging noise and Adaia blows a raspberry in his ear. They’ll figure it out. 


End file.
